


your brain is my favorite place to hide

by frikdreina



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Sense8 (TV) Fusion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hanging, Other, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-02 23:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frikdreina/pseuds/frikdreina
Summary: That’s when she first sees him.In front of her, there’s a reflection of a shirtless guy, a purple-black bruise around his neck. His bloodshot, blue-green eyes stare at hers, a frown taking over his forehead. They reach for one another, her fingers desperate to wipe the tears off his cheeks, but all she feels is the icy cold glass on her skin. Except he’s there, and he’s as real as she is.(A Memori Sense8 AU)





	your brain is my favorite place to hide

**Author's Note:**

> I read a Memori Sense8 AU fic a while ago and what a brilliant idea it was! Then inspiration hit me and I wrote this. Hopefully, I'll add more chapters because there's a lot to explore here.  
> [title song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_xp3e5lojY)

It has been a quiet day. Emori and her brother, Otan, had made a successful deal with one of their buyers from the other side of Detroit, leaving them with enough money to stay low for a while. Returning to their apartment, she hopped in the shower, washing all the sweat and dirt from her skin and hair, enjoying the hot water on her tensed muscles. She was always tense, always prepared for the worse. Or that’s what she thought.

Outside the bathroom door, she hears steps and low, hissing voices.

_He’s not alone._

She puts her clothes on in a hurry, opening the door with as much caution as she can to not make a sound. On her living room is an incredibly tall, dark-haired guy with a vast line carved on his forehead. He jerks with his arm looped around her brother’s neck when he sees her, and, at the same time, something cold and sharp lays against her throat. The guy she hadn’t seen before keeps a tight grip on her arm behind her back, his fingers bruising her skin.

“Otan?”

“You were not supposed to be here, Emori,” Otan says, putting all the strength he has into his words.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Shut up, freak,” the guy on her back growls in her ear.

Emori tries to break free from his grip, but he slides the blade further up her throat, meaning one more step would slice her skin open.

“Now, which one of you are responsible for stealing Baylis’ shit?” The tall guy asks.

Otan had told her about this. If Baylis found out they betrayed him, they would both be dead. Or worse.

“We didn’t take anyth-”

“I am," Otan cuts her off. "It was me. She had nothing to do with it.”

The tall guy hits Otan with a punch to the gut, making him fall to the ground, writhing and hissing in pain.

“Otan!”

A kick follows, hitting the side of his ribs.

Emori struggles against the guy’s clasp with all her strength, feeling a sting on her throat. Something warm and wet runs down the side of her neck, but she doesn’t care. “You’re hurting him, stop!”

“Shut this bitch up!” The leader snarls to the guy restraining her while he gives her brother another round of kicks and punches.

The taller guy crouches down beside her beaten brother, putting a knife to his throat. “Are you gonna tell me where it is?”

“I don’t have it anymore.”

The dangerous guy sighs, shaking his head in fake disappointment. “Then I guess you’re useless, aren’t you? I should kill you myself, but Baylis won't like that. No, he'll want to watch the life drain off your eyes.”

There’s blood coming out of Otan's nose and mouth, and his breathing is shallow and uneven, and somehow, he manages to reach for a stored gun under their couch. Emori hears a loud pop and, taking her brother’s cue, she turns around, grabbing the knife from the guy’s hand, kicking him to the groin, the pain sending him straight to the ground. She bends over him and buries the knife in his chest, his blood splashing all over her face.

Taking a few seconds to recover from the sudden wave of shock, she runs to her brother, grabbing his elbows carefully to help him stand. “Otan? Are you okay?”

Otan nods. “I don’t think he’s dead, we need to go.”

Emori nods and takes the gun off her brother’s hand, putting the safety on and tucking it in her waistband. As she exits the door, she looks over her shoulder, to the two guys laying on her living room floor, a pool of blood beneath the both of them.

 

Emori drives to one of the places they used for shelter when things went wrong. It’s a cabin just outside the city, right in the middle of nowhere, but at least no one but them knew about this. In the backseat, her brother coughs and groans in pain.

“Hang on, we’re almost there, Otan.”

Large raindrops start falling on her windshield just as she pulls over at the entry of the shelter, turning the engine off. She helps her brother up the three-step stairs, holding a tight grip around his shoulders, guiding him inside the house.

The place is small and dark, the furniture all coated in dust. By the sight of it, no one has come here in a long time, and she's glad to know everything's just as it was the last time they were here. That means they would be safe.

Emori sets Otan in one of the dining table chairs, moving to the kitchen, and filling a bowl with water, grabbing the cleanest piece of cloth she can find. She sits in front of him, her hand pulling the hem of his shirt up to study the wounds. There was a huge bruise in the shape of a circle on his side, right above his waist, and another one on his stomach, the purple almost turning to black.

“How bad is it?” He asks her, his voice low and sharp.

Emori forces a smile, though he can see right through it. “You’ll be okay.”

She dips the cloth into the water bowl, cleaning the blood off his face, fast and gently.

“We should stay here for a few days,” she says, “and you should get some sleep, you look like shit.”

Emori waits until Otan’s breathing evens, and he falls in a deep sleep before she leaves the cabin and heads back to their apartment. Her mind is trying to make her turn back and stay with her brother but she doesn’t, she needs to go. They left a big part of their money there and she could use some food and clean clothes. It’s a twenty-minute drive without all the traffic, and the streets are almost deserted in the middle of the night.

She climbs up the stairs to their apartment, her body freezing in front of the closed door, her heart beating so loudly that someone could hear it from feet away. She finally plucks up the courage to wrap her fingers around the unlocked doorknob, walking in, even if hesitantly. The smaller guy, the one who held her, and consequently left purple fingerprints on her wrists, was still there, drowning in his own pool of blood. The taller one is gone and bloody footprints stain the carpet, a red hand imprinted on the wallpaper by the door. For the amount of blood he’d lost, Emori thinks there’s no way he could’ve made it far. She can only hope he wasn't able to reach Baylis.

Without wasting any more time, she gathers some clean clothes for her and Otan and stashes the money in her backpack before heading to the tiny bathroom. She pulls the blood-soaked shirt over her head and tries to clean the dry blood off her face.

That’s when she first sees him.

In front of her, there’s a reflection of a shirtless guy, a purple-black bruise around his neck. His bloodshot, blue-green eyes stare at hers, a frown taking over his forehead. They reach for one another, her fingers desperate to wipe the tears off his cheeks, but all she feels is the icy cold glass on her skin. Except he’s there, and he’s as real as she is.

Outside the bathroom, someone paces, the sound breaking their trance and making her panicky heart soar. Reluctantly to leave the beautiful, crying boy in her mirror, she forces her eyes to turn to the door, feeling a lump rise in her throat. When she glances back, he’s gone.

Emori can distinguish other footsteps by now. Three, maybe four people, and she knows she's lost. There’s no way she can get out of there without being seen or taken, and the only solution is to hide in the bathroom and prepare to fight if they come. Her mind drifts to Otan, fear and concern growing inside her. She wonders if he’s okay, if he’s asleep, or if he noticed she was gone. She never believed in God or anything like that, but she hopes they exist, and that they’ll keep her brother away from Baylis.

Someone’s on the other side of the door, and as she stares at their shadow, something deep inside her knows it’s him. Emori worked for a long time for Baylis, she knows what he is capable of – there is no way he will let it go that easily. Emori clasps her fingers around her knife handle as he storms in the room, his hands already wrapped around her neck, her feet dangling from the ground.

He jerks her to the wall, the impact making her drop the knife as her wide brown eyes stare at his deadly black ones, his fingers constricting her airways so she can’t breathe. “You thought I wouldn’t find you? Did you underestimate me like that, Emori?”

She starts to lose consciousness, gasping in vain for air when he puts her down, his fingers never leaving her body.

Right above his right eye, there’s a long, thick line carved in his skin. She’ll never say it out loud, but she’s glad it left a scar. “What should I do to you, frikdreina?” 

“What are you doing? Let’s kill her, boss,” one of the guys behind him says.

Baylis turns to face the man, shooting him a murderous glance, returning his eyes to Emori after a second. “Well, since your brother took the easy way out, maybe you should pay for both of your crimes.” 

His dirty, massive fingers push her chest against the wall, the pressure on her lungs making it hard to breathe again. “What did you do to Otan?" She asks, her words coming out weaker than she expected, her throat still aching from his iron grip. 

Baylis smiles, a wicked, hellish grin she wishes she never had to see ever again. “He’s dead.”

Angry tears prick her eyes, but she'll be damned if she lets herself cry in front of this monster.

“He was halfway there. I just speeded things up.”

Emori clenches her jaw so tight that it hurts, her hands turning into fists on her side, her brain restraining the rest of her body from punching him in the face.

"Go wait in the van. I’ll be right behind you.”

The men all look confused their leader isn’t taking any more violent measures about her, but they leave without saying a word. She hears the front door closes and Baylis leans closer, his face just a few inches from hers.

The smell of cigars and cheap whiskey fills her lungs, the heavy scent just like having his hands around her neck again, making impossible for her to breathe. “I know just what to do to you, frikdreina.” 

He licks the side of her face, and she flinches under his tongue, a wrenching feeling in her gut making her sick. “You’re finally mine again, Emori.” 

Her name comes out almost like a prayer on his lips, the sound of it as a curse on her ears. Baylis grabs her by the arm and starts walking towards the door, dragging her with him. The pressure on her throat doesn’t go away, and her mind drifts to the crying guy in the mirror, how the dark purple injury circled his neck, how she would soon have the same bruise around hers.

Inside the car, Baylis puts a black bag on her head, her eyes and mind immersed in the darkness of her reality. By thought, she thanks whoever is out there for taking her brother away. It was better than having to face this man again. She wishes she could have the privilege – if you can call death a privilege at all – because she knows her punishment is just getting started. 

* * *

The sun has already set when his friend Mbege comes crashing inside his room.

Something sharp hits Murphy in the face, followed by a sting in his left cheek. “Recognize this?”

The object clatters on the floor, and his eyes slowly recognized its gray and yellow handle, the initials _J.M._ carved in it – his knife. Murphy doesn’t remember how he lost it; the last time he had seen it was a few days ago, as he played with it right after dinner like he always did. “Where did you find it?” 

“We found it by Well’s body, the guy you just killed."

He doesn’t know what his friend is talking about. Sure, there was a lot of people he wanted dead, but he hasn’t attacked anyone – at least not yet. “It wasn’t me.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Murphy," Mbege shouted. "We all heard you say you wanted to kill him.” 

Mbege’s grabs him by the arm, pushing him through his bedroom door, taking him to the cold, dark forest. “You know the punishment for murder.” 

“No, wait!" Murphy pleads, fighting the grip on his arm. "Mbege, just listen, man, I didn’t do it!”

Murphy knows the punishment is either from his faction or from the _blodreina_ , a woman they don’t dare to say her name. As his thoughts race inside his brain, someone’s tying up his hands around his back, making his heart feels like exploding inside his chest as panic boils inside his veins.

_“I didn’t do it!”_

They put a rope around his neck and the next thing he knows, his feet are dangling from the ground, his throat burning and entirely closed. He isn’t dead yet, and aside from the excruciating pain on his neck and lungs, he doesn’t feel anything else. If his spine had snapped he would’ve known, wouldn’t he?

In a matter of seconds, everything is black.

When he wakes, he’s back to his room, laying on his side as tears begin to roll down his face. His neck is bruised, and every breath he takes feels like a knife is cutting him from inside out. And to think all of this for something that wasn’t his fault. Murphy’s hurt and angry, and all he wants at the moment is to make the real killer and everyone who let his supposed friend do what he did, to feel what he felt, to beg, to choke, and _die_.

Murphy pulls his body up with some difficulty, heading to his tiny bathroom to splash some water on his face. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, the black bruise circling his neck, the tear tracks on his cheek, his bloodshot eyes. He hates his _friend_ for doing this, that’s for sure, but there’s no one he hates more than himself.

Murphy had always put himself first, he was a survivor, but for the first time in his life, he wishes he had died on that tree because it sure feels that way inside. He’s just a void, an empty shell of himself, and he doesn't recall when he had become this despicable person.

Taken by evil and self-destructive thoughts, that’s when it changed. The reflection in the mirror isn’t his anymore, but _hers_.

Her beautiful face is covered in blood, panic burning inside her wide golden-brown eyes. Something bubbles in his chest and he wishes he could touch her, raising his hand towards her, his fingers reaching for her as she copies his motion. When he feels nothing but the cold surface of the glass under his fingertips, disappointment and discontent bursts out of him. In the blink of an eye, she’s gone, and something in his brain makes him miss her profoundly. _What the hell is happening?_

Ignoring the hallucination he just had, he wipes the tears off his face, marching to Mbege’s room. Murphy kicks the door open, making his  _friend_ jump on his feet, the knife secure inside his pocket.

“What the fuck?” Mbege shouts.

Murphy bares his teeth, flying over his betraying _friend_ , hitting a punch to his face, then another, and another, until someone takes him by the arm, pulling him away from the guy.

“You’re dead, Mbege,” Murphy says between his teeth.

“Stop it, Murphy!” The guy behind him demands, and Murphy identifies the man holding him back as Finn, one of the leaders.

“Let go of me!” He shouts, breaking the boy’s grip on his arm.

“That's it, you’re banished, Murphy,” the leader says. “Pack your things and get the fuck out of here. And don’t come back.”

Finn pushes him out of Mbege’s door, and Murphy can’t feel anything. This is it, this is the end of him. There is no way he can survive in the woods alone.

As the cosmic joke he is, Murphy is captured two days after he's been banished. A tall, bald guy tortures him. A nail pulled out. A cut to his chest. A lash to his back. A punch to the face. All of this for information he doesn’t have. He is tired of people not believing him, of all the pain people put him through for nothing more than pure pleasure. In days, his torturer eventually gets tired of him, sending Murphy to his worse punisher, _Ontari_ __ _._ He has a collar around his neck now and chains restraint him to her bedroom wall.

“You will do as I say, or I'll kill you, do you hear me?”

The fight-or-flight mechanism he is so familiar with is no use to him this time, and he’d rather have all his nails plugged out than serving this woman.

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetad, and it's really confusing to write a story based on Sense8, I may have messed something up. I already started working on chapter 2 and it's Murphy's pov, so that means i'll probably keep changing povs, that's how my mind works, sorry. Anyway, I hope you like this, and feel free to send kudos or comments, they're extremely appreciated :)


End file.
